


Remontant

by Syrenslure



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 20:08:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrenslure/pseuds/Syrenslure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(A shameless excuse for sex, without much else to redeem it. ) Claire finds that she is even stronger than she realizes, and that love can be found in unexpected places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remontant

**Author's Note:**

> Written for **kathrynthegr8**. I don't know where or when I started this, but I found it in one of my notebooks, and decided to see if I could make it coherent. (1 March 09)
> 
>  **Warnings:** Angst, Incest, Cross-generational. Possible consent issues. AU.
> 
>  **Pairing:** Peter/Claire/Nathan, and various permutations thereof.

They are at the Sheraton in Poughkeepsie when she loses her virginity. Nathan has brought her along with his entourage while he campaigns. She's mostly an invisible face in the crowd, as always, and she doesn't know how anyone explains her presence, or if anyone even asks. She's wearing a campaign badge on the front of her rumpled shirt, and it scratches a little when Nathan pins her to the wall and roughly palms her breast.

She moans and arches into his rough touch, but part of her wants to giggle at the whole situation. Mostly, she is a little nervous, but she loves the possessive way that he looks at her, and the way that he's slightly rough just because she can take it. It feels like he knows her, wants her in a way that she's never felt before.

His mouth tastes like the scotch that he was drinking at the fundraiser and the whiskers on his cheeks are raspy, scratchy against her skin. He pins her to the wall of the hallway and pushes his hand under her short, pleated skirt, and into her panties. His fingers flick over her clit briefly, and she claws at his shoulders as he plunges two of them into her tight opening.

Her head falls back from his kiss, banging against the wall, and she bites her lip trying not to cry out as she squirms against his intrusion. He doesn't let her get away though, and begins to work his fingers in and out of her. She can feel herself getting wetter, the way his touch begins to soothe and then excite her, until she is making greedy little noises against his mouth for more. He stretches her open as he thrusts, bracing her against the wall with his knee, and making her feel helpless, as if she can do nothing but take what he will give.

His other hand tangles in her hair, and forces her mouth to his, kissing her hard, even as her teeth bite into her own lip hard enough that she thinks that there is a slight metallic taste in her mouth. She is mewling and jerking her hips against his hand and thigh. Boldly, she scrambles for his zipper, knowing what she needs, demanding to be an active participant in her own destruction, but he bats her hands away and pulls her along the hall to the suite. He strips her of everything but her panties and tosses her onto the bed. She scrambles backwards on her elbows, breathless in anticipation as he toes off his shoes and sheds his socks and shirt. His body is powerful, well muscled and slightly tanned. He looks so good, and there is no pretense that this is a fumbling boy; this is a man.

Claire's lungs seem to contract hard in her chest, as if the air has left the room, and her mouth is dry, but she knows that if she could put it on him, to touch him, taste him, then all would be fine. He makes her wait a split second, and then his is there, grabbing her knees and pulling her off-balance, under him, covering her small frame. Her name, "Claire," is a growl against her ear, and then he is ripping her panties away and slamming into her, through her barrier, and making her want to scream in sheer joy at the pain.

His hips slam into her own, and she gets into the rhythm, tentatively at first, but then begins matching him, stroke for powerful stroke. She arches her back, and it feels almost like she is floating above the bed, above both of them. She reaches for him, desperate to hold on, to be even closer, and he grabs both of her small hands in one of his and holds them above her head. It's almost enough, and she tightens her legs around his waist.

"That's it, Claire, come for me," Nathan commands in a rough-voice, and she doesn't even have time to process the idea, before she is swelling, contracting, shivering around him, in a never-ending sensation that is so far from and yet so close to pain. She's never felt anything like it before, and he tenses against her, driving deep and shudders his own release. The sensation of it seems to flow through her whole body, bringing a lassitude that flows all the way to her extremities.

He collapses on her for a few moments, and then he's gone. He doesn't bother getting dressed, just stalks over to grab something from his briefcase and then stands in front of the floor-length windows looking over the city, with his back to her. He lights up a cigarette, something she has never seen him do before, and his voice makes her shiver in the now cold room, when he speaks. "You should go."

She does, gathering up her clothes and dressing quickly, not even bothering to clean up. She gives herself a brief glance in the mirror and leaves without speaking. She wills herself not to look back.

Seven cities later, and they've fucked four more times. Nathan is kind and vaguely indulgent in public, putting on a good face, and in private, he's rough and demanding and satisfying a need that she had never been able to identify before. Yet, he barely speaks directly to her in either case.

She doesn't think about it much, and her confusion is obvious when she lets herself into Nathan's room in Schenectady and sees Peter sitting in a chair, his shirt rumpled and undone, a glass of amber liquor in his hand. She finds herself drawn to him, knowing she is a moth caught in a flame, and his weary smile transforms his face, allowing her a glimpse of the Peter she thought she knew.

Nathan comes up behind her, pulls her against him, and begins quickly and methodically to shed her clothes. She knows she should protest, but she is lost in the hunger in Peter's eyes. It makes her feel special, powerful, in ways that have nothing to do with being invulnerable, and everything to do with being a woman.

She ends up in the middle of the bed, one leg thrown to the side, between Peter's, who is lying next to her. She can feel his hardness near her hip, and reaches down to take it in her small hand. He's hot and hard, and panting near her ear, and this makes her almost as hot as Nathan pounding into her from above. Peter reaches out and turns her face to him, to kiss her deeply, gentle in a way that Nathan never is, but still passionate, she wonders for a minute what it would be like to have him be the one on top of her, inside, and wonders if she'll get the chance to find out.

She wonders if Nathan can hear this stray thought, if he is the one that can read minds instead of Peter, because he squeezes her breast hard, pinching her nipple, and bites down on her shoulder, nearly breaking the skin. She comes then, and Nathan does too, while Peter's hips pump, seeking a release that he won't find. She aches, inside and out, and for a moment wishes the bruises and bites wouldn't fade so quickly, that she could hold onto these tangible reminders that this was more than a memory, but knows they aren't meant to be. None of this is.

Nathan moves away, grabbing up Peter's abandoned glass and draining it, as Peter moves between her legs. She opens up for him, spread wide, flexible and wanton, but he still presses his hands against the insides of her thighs, opening her even further before burying his face in her sex. He licks a broad stripe up from her opening then swirls his tongue around her clit. She can feel her inner walls fluttering already, aching for another climax, as he thrusts his fingers inside of her still slightly stretched opening, along with his tongue, as he begins to eat Nathan's cum from her cunt. It's like nothing she has ever felt before.

She bucks under his attentions, until his fingers are digging against the bones of her hips to hold her down, and she is making little, mewling begging sounds. She wants to come, can feel how close her goal is, but somehow Peter keeps it just beyond her grasp. "Fuck!," she swears, hating herself, hating Peter and Nathan, loving them, but wanting to fucking just come already, and she starts rambling, all of this falling from her lips, begging, needing.

Then Nathan is there again, nudging Peter with an indulgent smile that doesn't quite match the darkness in his eyes, but she doesn't care, because Peter is there, finally, there, sliding inside of her, giving her what she needs. He stills, meeting her eyes, and Nathan moves out of her line of sight. She doesn't understand at first, but then she feels it, the extra pressure as Peter pushes more deeply inside of her, the gasp that he can't hold back, and the way that he begins to move, in a rhythm already familiar to her.

She feels Nathan's fingers against her hips, where he is gripping Peter. The surprise must show on her face, because Peter's eyes never leave hers, as he says, "He's fucking his own daughter, Claire; did you really think his brother was off limits?" His voice is ragged and harsh in a way she doesn't associate with him.

She can only answer back in a whisper, "So are you."

His eyes do close then, but he kisses her, bites at her jaw and neck. It's tender though, almost caring, not at all like Nathan, and her heart almost breaks for all three of them, as she takes his face in her hands and kisses him deeply, pouring everything into it – all of her guilt and sorrow and pleasure and shame and need and love, but most of all love. In this, they're the same, she knows. They both love and need Nathan, but he doesn't need them, doesn't know how to love them like this, but they are the same in this, have been since the moment they met. This is what they can take for themselves, what they can hold, because Nathan will never miss it. This is what they can be when he lets them go, what he can't give them himself.

With that, she soars, feeling Peter inside of her, Nathan there too, all twisted up in the darkness inside of her. They are one and two and three all mixed up and all flying apart in different directions. It's all different now – not good or bad, but different. This is what she wanted all along. Right here, in this moment, this, this is where she belongs, and she feels it sweep through her as they all find their completion. Together, separately, it doesn't matter, because they are all intimately joined.

Nathan is the first to pull away, but this time she doesn't mind. She kisses Peter absently, as a niece might kiss her uncle, and then gathers up her clothes. This time, when she leaves Nathan's room, she is smiling.

  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://panthermoon.com/dreaming/viewstory.php?sid=35>  



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